The smell of burning metal filled the air as she choked on the dry smoke that muted her senses; the natural crackle and pop from what could only be a fire flanked her on all sides. Her eyes fluttered open, but as they registered the intense light emanating from the flames, her visceral response was to shut them. Her stifled cough sent waves of pain radiating throughout her body. Realizing the weight of the situation, she opened her eyes again. Her pupils constricted as she allowed herself a few moments to adjust. She slowly craned her head enough to allow herself a glimpse into the rearview mirror. In the foreground, she could see that her face was scratched and blood raced down her cheek as it began to graze her jaw line. Then, something else caught her eye. She saw past her own face in the mirror and saw that the back of the car was emitting a deep, brooding smoke.

“Please, I’m sorry. Please…” she managed to squeak out, but something else caught her attention. The car door, mangled and dented, pinned her arm to her side. To no avail, she attempted to free her arm, but quickly saw how futile it was.

“I promise, if I get out of this alive, I’ll always be there for you.” She said with the utmost sincerity. Mid groveling, she escaped into the past.
“Jake, I'm sorry I didn't show up. It's just… too soon." She said as shame enveloped her and constricted her airways.
His face contorted for a moment, but he regained his composure, "Listen, I knew this would be difficult for you since," he paused, hesitant, watching her reaction, "… since you called off the wedding with Chris, but you were supposed to walk me down the aisle since Mom's gone." Jake got up and moved closer to her to try and console her. She averted her eyes only to see that she had been unconsciously fidgeting with her engagement ring that was now staring at her, mocking her.
The fire proceeded to tango with the whistling wind while she racked her brain for ways to escape. In the back of her mind, she knew that her fate was imminent. Before she understood what she was doing, she used her free arm to rifle through her purse. She dug out a few scraps of paper. Desperately searching for something, she read a crinkled sheet of paper to herself. It read, "Happy birfthday, Mommy. I luv U this mutch!" Beneath the child's writing was a crudely drawn stick with a heart within its outstretched arms. Tears rolled down her face, washing away the dust that had landed there. Quickly, she wiped them away and chuckled. Her hand hovered over her mouth as more tears streamed down. She winced; each tear stung the cuts on her cheek.
Behind the note was a picture of her and her fiancée of five years, Chris. The memories came rushing back. That day, she and Chris had gone rock climbing. In the photo, beads of sweat glistened against her tanned sweat. Even in her gross state, Chris had still managed to give her a loving peck on the cheek just in time for the photo. Then, an inexplicable feeling of remorse and sorrow hit her like a ton of bricks.
“T, what are we doing?” Chris asked as he rested his head in his hands. She stepped away from him and strode to the window. The rain drummed against the window, and she kept her blank stare. In her reflection, she saw what could be, and she saw what had been.
“I don’t know, Chris. I’m just not ready.” Chris sighed into the tense air as he began to boil.
“If not now, then when? We’ve been doing this for five years!” he unwittingly stood up, “what’s Jack going to think when he’s old enough to understand that Mommy and Daddy aren’t married?” Chris’ shoulders dropped as he apologetically slumped back into his chair.
“We won’t let it get to that,” she said tenderly, eyes burning.
“T, he’s already four. Don’t you get it? He’s getting to that age,” Chris’ voice trailed off as he looked down at his naked ring finger, “and what about me?” Avoiding her gaze, he directed his attention towards the rip in the couch cushion.
“I don’t know, Chris, I need more time to think.” And before he could say anything, she was out the door.
She hugged the photo close to her chest and started to shake uncontrollably, “I’m sorry. Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry. I never should have left.”
She reached for the glove compartment desperately pining for the handle. Upon a sad attempt to lean over, she was painfully reminded that her left arm was pinned to her side. Quickly, she recoiled, but the pain had already dissipated. After another agonizing try, her fingertips brushed against the cold handle, and she pulled the small door open.
A car manual, for a 2004 Ford Explorer, hit to the floor revealing an emergency twenty dollar bill and crumpled insurance papers. Past the flyaway sheets of paper, light from the flames danced across a golden chain. She snatched it up and held it at eye level. The chain wrapped itself around her scraped knuckles; she looked into the thin cross dangling from the necklace.
“Dear, God,” she said unsure of how to continue, “I’m truly sorry for all of my wrongdoings. I know I’ve never been religious,” her eyes drooped a bit and she could feel herself becoming sleepy, “but if I get out of this, I promise that I’ll be a better person. I’ll marry Chris and be there for Jake. Please, just give me another chance.” She let her head fall into her hands and found her breaths coming rather sporadically.
She slowly realized that the only one who could forgive her now was herself. With her free hand, she gently reached across her face to rub both of her temples.
The chain slipped from her hands, and she could hardly keep her eyes open. She gently rested her head on the deflated airbag. Her breathing slowed as she allowed her eyelids to fall. T exhaled one more time as she heard the distant sound of sirens heading in her direction. With her last breath, she muttered, “Mother?”